Poetry | Heartbreak

Sour sweets are remnants of your love,
Their wrapper peels in an unwelcoming stickiness,
The sugar is baked in a forgotten glove box.
I don’t store things where I can’t reach them.

And you were the passenger.
Always with me,
Always with somewhere else to be,

But in my mouth, I taste you.
Your eye-watering sourness.
I remember who you are.

I wipe away the tears and grab a bag,
I throw you all away,
Your bottles and wrappers, and the dirt from under your shoes.

I empty your sour sweets into my lap.
I peel them all,
And eat them one by one,

Alone in my car,
I spend the evening remembering your love.

. . . . .

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